


At your side

by orphan_account



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mentions of Violence, as in you know getting your hand cut after being tied to a rocks for what I think was years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>after saving Maedhros, Fingon stays at his cousin's side</p>
            </blockquote>





	At your side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elenorasweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenorasweet/gifts).



> I was complaining on tumblr about having troubles remembering the name of the elves in the Silmarillion, and it started a conversation that ended with... me writing this.  
> I'd never have thought that one day I'd write fanfics for that particular book.  
> I regret nothing.  
> Elves are surprisingly fun, especially when they're still young and fairly innocent (well, as innocent as the Noldor gets, I mean)

Fingon had not left his cousin's side since their return. Maedhros had not yet regained consciousness, but the healers said he would probably live.

They all praised Fingon for his courage, his audacity, his willingness to put aside Fëanor's betrayal of his kin and to bring peace again by such a daring act. He wondered what they would all think if they knew that ending the feud had been the least of his worries. The only thing on his mind had been Maedhros.

Maedhros who now lay on a bed, deadly pale, his right wrist wrapped in a tight bandage. The wound no longer bled, but the pain clearly remained, if the other elf's soft moans were any indication. Fingon brushed his fingers against his friend's face, only to find his skin burning. Fingon had seen others in such a state, elves that had been hurt during their long crossing through the North passage. Many had been lost in such a way.

He would not lose Maedhros, not after all he'd had to do to get him back. He had lost too many friends to lose _this one._

The healers had left him a basin of fresh water, supposedly to clean Maedhros's wound should it open again before they come check on him, but it'll do well enough to fight the fire in him.

“Please hang on, _meleth nìn_ ,” Fingon begged him. “You haven't gone so far to d... to _disappear_ like this.”

Maedhros didn't answer.

Fingon didn't expect him to.

 

* * *

 

For hours Fingon fought the fire within, alone at first, then with the help of the healers once they were warned of the problem.

For long moments, they feared that they were losing the prince, that he would burst into flames, as his father had done before. The healers even talked of sending Fingon away, that he may not have to witness the last minutes of pain of his dear friend. He had refused. They had not insisted.

But at last, the fire calmed down, and though Maedhros was still in pain, his life now no longer seemed in any danger.

 

* * *

 

It took two more days for Maedhros to awake, and Fingon did not leave him that entire time. The prince's brother all came to see him, and to thank their cousin for what he'd done when all of them had given up on Maedhros. Maglor in particular almost cried out of gratitude. Of all the brothers, he had probably been the less fit to wear a crown. Fingon had found himself trying to reassure him, telling him that he'd done the only thing he could do when the fate of his entire people was in the balance.

In truth he had hated Maglor after learning that the sons of Fëanor had left their eldest brother to suffer by the hand of Morgoth, but this was a time for forgiveness, and Maglor did seem truly repentant.

But none of that mattered at the moment.

Because Maedhros had awoken, and the first thing he had seen after opening his eyes had been Fingon, which had made him _smile_.

“I've never been happier to see you, _meleth nìn_ ,” the wounded prince sighed weakly. “You managed to bring me home once more, then. Just like we were young and I would go explore too far away... do you remember?”

Fingon nodded, chocking back tears. He hadn't cried once, not since Maedhros had been taken. There had been too much to _do_ to have time for tears. But now, with his cousin looking at him and smiling in spite of his pain, Fingon realized just how close he'd been to losing him again. That was far worse than the burning of the ships. At least then he had known that his friend was _alive_ , no matter how far away from him.

“I'm glad to have you back,” he sobbed.

“So am I. Though you did a poor job this time,” Maedhros teased, raising his right arm. “Usually you manage to bring me back whole.”

“Are you angry at me?” Fingon asked, recalling how his beloved cousin had begged for death, for the end of his misery. It had been a selfish act to free him in such a manner. He did not regret it, but should Maedhros hate him for it...

“Angry at you? For _saving_ me? That new light on the sky must have burned your brain, _muin nìn_. Or is anyone blaming you for what you did?”

Fingon let out a breath as relief coursed through his veins. “No one blames me, no. They appear to think me a hero.”

“And for that, they are right. I owe you my life, and what have I done to deserve it? At Losgar...”

Fingon put his fingers on his cousin's lips, silencing him.

“We will talk of that later, _meleth nìn_. You must rest now, and eat maybe, if you are to heal. I'll go ask for a bowl of broth.”

“No, stay!” Maedhros pleaded, catching his cousin's hand. “I do not care for food, not right now. I want you to stay with me.”

“You are childish, _meleth nìn_. I will be gone a few minutes at most, and you really do need to eat. Did... were you even fed when... _there_?”

“Sometimes. He sent orcs, to make sure I was kept alive. The eldest son of Fëanor was too precious a prisoner to starve me to death. But I am not hungry now, and I'd rather keep you with me a little longer.”

“Maedrhos, you are unreasonable!”

“I do not want to be alone,” the prince admitted, looking away from his cousin but tightening his grip on his wrist. “I've been alone long enough already. If the only way to eat now is to lose your company for a single moment, then I am not hungry.”

Fingon, who had started to rise, sat down again and with his free hand caressed the other's cheek.

“I will stay, then. The healers should soon come check on you, anyway. But you must promise you will eat everything that is brought to you, even if the taste doesn't please you. Is that clear?”

“You are cruel, _muin nìn_ ,” Meadhros complained, smiling again. “Fine, if that is what it takes to keep you here, I promise.”

Fingon smiled back, and tenderly kissed his cousin's brow.

All was well again.

**Author's Note:**

> and look, there's a lovely illustration to go with it too: http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/1443879


End file.
